


Demons Especially Don't Love Angels

by TylerCherry81 (orphan_account)



Series: Hurt and Perhaps Some Comfort [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 11:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20407069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TylerCherry81
Summary: Demons don’t cry, they don’t love, and they especially don’t love angels.





	Demons Especially Don't Love Angels

**Author's Note:**

> eyo i didn't know how to continue the last part of this series but i tried and now this exists 👉😎👉

It took Crowley nearly an hour to fall [1] back into a semi-normal mental state. The majority of that hour was spent curled up on his bed, wallowing in self-pity. He sobbed until he got sick of the feeling of tears on his face, and then be sobbed some more. Demons weren’t supposed to cry, they weren’t supposed to love, and they especially weren’t supposed to love angels. He pondered if it was even love at this point. Six thousand years was a hell of a long time to love someone, and maybe it had evolved from love to something more? Crowley wasn’t sure and didn’t want to spend more time than he already had to contemplate this.

Perhaps [2] it was more than love, but Crowley wanted so desperately to shut down the part of his brain that thought about Aziraphale [3] that he refused to think of it any longer. He sighed deeply and hauled himself upright, curling inwards as he slouched. He pressed his palms to his eyes to gather any remaining tears.

That’s right; Aziraphale was visiting today.

He had been coming by Crowley’s flat more and more ever since an eleven-year-old singlehandedly [4] evaded the apocalypse. It’s not that Crowley was opposed to it— he was far from opposed, in fact— he simply preferred to keep Aziraphale as far away from him as possible. Especially when he was in a state like this. He simply wanted to protect his angel, no matter if it tore at his heart every single time that he faked being busy or slept for a decade in order to sort out his feelings or push them down.

_Demons don’t cry, they don’t love, and they especially don’t love angels._

Crowley was a decidedly horrible demon, even Aziraphale could see it. And sure, maybe slamming him against a wall was an overreaction, but how else was he supposed to get close to him? It wasn’t like Heaven was big on physical contact, anyways. It was simply “_do this_,” and “_do that_,” and there was no touching. Knowing that he didn’t have to conform to Heaven’s ridiculous policies about contact— Crowley was certain— was the only good part of Falling. He could brush his hand against Aziraphale’s or even lean on him if he were lucky enough because he was a demon, and sometimes the angel would hold his hand or pull him closer!

Crowley was sure that his face was red. Human or not, he could still blush. And whenever he thought of Aziraphale, he swore his hair went up in flames. He coyly rested a hand on his cheek to feel searing heat that he knew he had to get rid of before his angel [5] showed up.

He stood up so quickly it was dizzying. His head spun for a few seconds before he took a step towards his bathroom. Leaning over the sink, he turned on the faucet and let the cold water pour over his open palms. He watched the liquid drain back into the sink and down the drain for a few seconds before snapping back into reality and cupping his hands, splashing the water on his face. He caught a glace of his reflection and realized he would have to do more than just splash some water on his face to look presentable. His hair stuck up at odd angles and the bags under his eyes had deepened and purpled. His eyes were still red and puffy from crying and he grimaced at the sight.

“Crowley?”

Speak of the <strike>Devil</strike>angel and he doth appear.

“Shit.” Crowley cursed under his breath and with a demonic miracle [6] his appearance was back to normal. He took a deep breath and with another once-over in the mirror he called, “In here, angel!” A part of him cringed as he remembered that ‘angel’ was a human term of endearment and he shouldn’t be calling Aziraphale that. They weren’t together in that way, after all; they were just friends. Sure, they were friends for six thousand years and had helped in the aversion of the apocalypse, but they were friends.

“Oh,” Aziraphale began, “You’re in here, dear boy.” He smiled and Crowley’s guts twisted themselves into knots. He wanted to grab the angel by his soft, squishable face and kiss him for eons [7]. To run his fingers through his soft blonde hair and pull him as close as possible. He wanted their souls to merge, their ethereal forms to amalgamate together and mix and melt into one being. But that wasn’t love, right?

Crowley had been staring and Aziraphale had been getting worried about him. The angel let out a soft “ahem” to get the demon’s attention, his smile returning when Crowley looked him in the eyes again. He was really far gone for this demon, wasn’t he?

“You remembered.” Aziraphale said with a certain softness in his voice that was only reserved for Crowley. He gave the angel a confused look. “To take your glasses off when I’m around, I mean. I rather enjoy being able to see your eyes.” A light glow decorated Aziraphale’s face, but he didn’t avert his eyes. He silently prayed that Crowley wouldn’t notice his flustered state. He hadn’t noticed before, but then again, the angel hadn’t noticed Crowley’s advances in the past either.

“Well, I’ve hung around you for six thousand years, I was bound to start listening to you eventually.”

“I supposed you’re correct, dear.”

Part of Crowley’s mind overanalyzed the small point that Aziraphale never tacked on ‘boy’ at the end of his phrase that time. He simply called him dear. A term of endearment, like how he called him ‘angel.’ He wondered if Aziraphale wanted to hold him close and kiss him. If he wanted to hold Crowley close and never let go again like the demon so wished himself.

“I suppose I am.”

There was a pause.

“Crowley—”

“That is my name, angel.” Aziraphale chuckled lightly at that remark[8], but his gentle demeanor fell quickly. Crowley’s mind raced. Did he do something wrong? Did Aziraphale hate him? Was he finally going to tell Crowley off? Shout at him for being a pathetic enough angel to fall and an even more pathetic demon? Berate him for ruining everything he touched? His job to bring the apocalypse, his plants, his angel. Ruined. And it was his fault. He misplaced the antichrist. What an idiot. He shouts at his plants for being inadequate when he himself is the most inadequate creature in his flat. His angel was falling, anyone could see that. That’s why Gabriel wanted Crowley gone. That’s why Aziraphale isn’t smiling anymore. That’s why—

“I need to tell you something.” A beat of silence. “It’s rather important and extremely urgent.” Another beat of silence. “It has been urgent for a while now, in fact.”

The blood drained from Crowley’s face. He had definitely fucked up. That’s why Aziraphale had been coming over so often. He was gathering every single possible detail of everything Crowley was doing wrong so he could tell him now. Aziraphale would tell him that he’s sick of him and he would fly off to Alpha Centauri without him. Instead of voicing his worries, however, what came out of Crowley’s mouth was:

“What?”

He wanted to throw himself out of the window. If he were to be discorporated then he could avoid this conversation entirely. Crowley’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any way to get out of the discussion. If he were to turn on the fan, he might be able to chop off a limb— there must be some reason that humans were so afraid of them, after all. He could pretend to slip and bash his head against the sink, therefore rendering him unable to reply. That should do well enough. He was desperate so he might as well try. He was about to enact his genius plan when he heard Aziraphale’s voice pipe up.

“We should sit down.” He had noticed Crowley’s uncomfortable state and grabbed his hand to lead him out of the bathroom.

All Crowley’s brain could process at the moment was: ‘_He’s holding my hand. Holy shit Aziraphale is holding my hand. He is holding my hand and it feels so nice and wow his hand is thick. It’s not like I imagined those hands doing very specific and very dirty things to me, no sir._’

And all Aziraphale’s brain could process at the moment was: ‘_Why in God’s name did I grab his hand? I mean, sure, it’s soft— does he moisturize? — and fits perfectly within mine but I should not be holding his hand. That is reserved for those in romantic relationships and we are not. In a romantic relationship, I mean. Not at all._’

Aziraphale swallowed [9] and kept Crowley’s hand in his as they sat next to each other on his bed. He went over what he was going to say in his head and realized that he had no idea what he was going to say. He was too distracted by Crowley’s hand in his that he forgot his words. He cleared his throat and looked at the demon. And Crowley was looking back at him. They both looked away even though they knew the other had caught them staring.

They were total dorks.

* * *

[1]Haha, get it?

[2] <https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/249378234372718592/613095778466004993/d5a.jpeg>

[3]It was, admittedly, the largest part of Crowley’s brain. It also contains most of his decision making, which shouldn’t come as a surprise due to the fact that it revolves mostly around Aziraphale.

[4]I say “singlehandedly” because it wasn’t like Crowley and Aziraphale helped out that much, what with the two of them watching over the wrong antichrist for eleven years. And if they were competent at all, they would both realize that they had been pining for each other since the bombing of the church.

[5]**His **angel ( ͡0 ͜ʖ ͡0)

[6]As Crowley would say. He didn’t want to entertain the thought that he was once able to perform miracles and not the unholy variation of them. Especially not when he had a guest to entertain and emotions to bury.

[7]And as immortal beings, they could very well kiss for eons without need for oxygen.

[8]Aziraphale is a know-it-all bastard and can appreciate a fellow know-it-all bastard.

[9]Nevermind, that comes later. ( ͡0 ͜ʖ ͡0)

**Author's Note:**

> they're just idiots in love


End file.
